Page 5

Chapter 5

Fleur

A n unfamiliar sound has me tossing the covers off myself and jolting out of bed before my sleep-induced brain finally comprehends it’s loud banging on the screen door.

“Who in the world …” I say to myself, but my voice dies as I realize what day it is.

Saturday.

Adam mentioned he’d be back on Saturday to work on the kitchen sink, and I completely forgot. Yesterday was a long day at the bed-and-breakfast. Mr. Northgate had outdoor work he needed help with, so after I finished cleaning the rooms and restocking the front entry snack area, I went to help pull weeds in their flower beds for far too long. How a man in his seventies can spend hours bent over like that is beyond me. I’m exhausted.

Another loud knock on the front door drags me out of bed, and I wrap my silk robe around my lacey pajama set. The air conditioning in this house only works fifty percent of the time, and it being summertime in Mississippi, my continued choice of what I wear to bed has dwindled down to fewer and fewer clothes.

Each step down the narrow hallway is an indecisive one. Accentuated by the obnoxious wooden floor creaking with every step. Answer the door. Don’t answer the door. The wooden planks speak to me the entire trip to the front entrance.

When I reach the front door, I freeze, hand midway to the tarnished bronze knob I have zero intention of replacing. Adam stands on the other side of the door. And while meeting him was like a breath of fresh air in a new town, my traitorous heart sinks thinking about my inability to trust anyone.

More like men.

Disloyal, cheating ones.

At least he’s been more than willing to help me with this massive undertaking of a project. And maybe this is what my heart needs to move on.

I shake my head. You’re getting ahead of yourself.

I step close to the old mirror that hangs to the left of the door. It’s gold and gaudy, not my taste for décor at all. But I stare blankly in it. I study the dark circles under my eyes above the dusting of freckles on my cheeks. What used to be my biggest insecurity has now become my most unique feature. My dirty-blond hair and cloudy gray eyes are average. Nothing special. Apparently, not enough for Chris to keep it in his pants.

I sigh, and the air released creates a puff of fog that blurs my reflection.

It’s now or never.

Gripping the handle, I pull open the door.

“Hey!” Adam says, holding out a coffee cup to me. A black coffee bean inside a thin square is stamped on the side of the cup, and I briefly remember seeing that logo on a cozy-looking shop in town.

“Uh, hi,” I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. The smell of hay catches on the breeze and tickles my nose.

“I’m sorry. We did say Saturday, right?”

Adam’s face is bright and awfully chipper for 7:00 a.m. Didn’t we say 9:00 a.m.? He’s smiling at me, his gaze lingering on my bare legs and climbing to my pajamas. I follow his perusal and shove my robe back together where it’s open.

Putting on a show for the contractor this morning. Lovely.

“We did. I’m sorry. I overslept.” I eyeball the coffee still hovering in my face, and he nods at me.

“You know you want it.” His grin grows wider at my confused expression. Both work boots step into my view, closer than before and right at the threshold. My heart picks up speed at his charming smile, and I’m baffled by my own reaction.

“Uh, sure. Thank you so much. Come in. Let me just go get dressed quickly. I’m so sorry, again.” I step back, holding the torn screen door open for him.

He sets his toolbox and materials down in the kitchen while I scurry back to my bedroom, nearly face-planting as I trip over the broken floorboard I dodge daily.

Fortunately, this room is the only space semi put together. I found a white oak bed frame at a yard sale in a nearby wealthy neighborhood. After three separate trips to bring it home, I still slept on the floor for a few nights, waiting for my boxed mattress to arrive. Now it’s my sanctuary for all things sleep and grief. Because that’s all I’ve done in it. Sleep and cry.

After hauling out my suitcase from the closet missing both doors, I dig through, looking for some gym shorts and a T-shirt. I definitely need to get some more work clothes. Looks like another trip to Double Lucky’s thrift store is in order.

Clangs and clicks sound from underneath my closed door as I rip off my shirt and shove on a bra.

Beside the closet is the entrance to the small en suite. Unfortunately, all the tile work needs to be redone. A new toilet is also needed because, apparently, the plumbing is stopped up somewhere in the line, according to my dad—who I had to FaceTime in order to diagnose it.

For now, I use the hallway bathroom, and I dart out of my master bedroom to use it. Green and yellow tiles adorn the floor, and it looks like someone threw up in the square box, but it works. And that’s what counts.

I brush my teeth and toss my hair into a messy ponytail. I linger, looking over my clear face in the mirror, then glance at the door while listening to Adam work in the kitchen. What the hell. I yank out my makeup and do a quick application. Some concealer, blush, and mascara. I’d hate to scare the man away before he’s started.

Chris never cared if I wore makeup, or at least I thought he didn’t. Many weekends at our home together we’d work tirelessly outdoors. Mini home improvement projects or work in the raised garden bed I attempted for several years. I’d roll out of bed without makeup and go the whole day in ragged clothes and frizzy hair. He was never deterred. We’d laugh and argue, casually making up throughout the day, then go on a dinner date in the evening.

I don’t know what I did wrong.

After I compose myself, I pad into the kitchen. The entire cast iron bowl has been removed and Adam is on his back under the sink. His shirt rides up, and his muscular abs peek out, a faint patch of hair leading down to?—

I blink and turn away, busying myself with the coffee he brought for me. A vanilla latte, from the taste of it.

“Thank you for the coffee. It’s good!”

Adam tilts his chin to his chest, eyeing me. Another grin widens across his mouth, his eyes glistening with what looks like humor. I lift the cup in appreciation and offer him a smile over it before taking another sip.

“My good friend and his wife own the shop. I’m sure they’d love it if you stopped by. Everyone’s been wondering about the new woman in town.”

My cheeks heat. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice from the dark void of my cabinets.

This is a small town. I knew the possibility of being discussed and gossiped about was there. Heck, even in my town back home, four times this size, news spread fast about Chris’s indiscretions. Leaving quickly prevented anyone from talking me out of it. I’m sure the rumor mill has sprouted wings and fully taken off by now, but I’m miles away.

“Wondering, huh? Maybe more like questioning?” I snort.

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Trust me. People wonder. New folks around these parts are the talk of the town. Especially here in Ruin.”

Flashes of my time in the bank yesterday occupy my thoughts—that man. Especially here in Ruin. Maybe that’s why the man was glaring at me from across the street. He doesn’t like outsiders.

“Yeah. In the bank yesterday I met with a woman named Pam?—”

“Oh, she’s a sweetheart. You’ll love her,” Adam interjects.

“Yeah. She was. A few men came in, though. They looked like part of a motorcycle club. But … when I asked, she said no. Told me to leave it alone.” I bite my lip, looking at my teal nail polish, then lift my eyes ever so slightly.

Adam’s face has fallen. A pale color replaces the sun-kissed golden cheeks he came in with. “I’d listen to her, Fleur. They aren’t people you want to mess with.”

You see, that right there is why I want to know. Who are these people who have the whole town spooked?

“I see.”

Adam sighs and pulls himself out from under the sink, a pipe in hand. He holds my gaze while grabbing a greasy rag from under his armpit. Wiping his hands, he takes several steps toward me.

“They deal in drugs and run an underground gambling circuit. They’re dangerous. You don’t bother them; they won’t bother you.”

Drugs? Gambling? What the hell is this town I’ve moved to? Worry seeps into his expression, it tensing with—shame? He shakes his head, backing up and smirking.

“Wouldn’t want to run you out of Ruin just yet.” He winks at me, and I offer a shy laugh. “Now I’ve got your pipes replaced. But if you’re planning to refinish this sink, we’ll need to wait on it before moving forward.”

“What do you think?” I ask. Because I don’t know. I’d love to refinish it, but this is not my forte.

“I think …” Adam pads over to me, hands shoved inside his jean pockets. “I think you should do whatever you want, Fleur.”

My breath hitches at his tone, but giddiness jolts through me at his words. He’s right. Nine years of decisions made together. This is my time.

“I’d like to refinish it.”

Scrubbing toilets is part of the job, but this particular bathroom toilet is full and gross. The work today is not as fun as it was three days ago with Adam.

He stayed for another five hours on Saturday to help me gut more of the kitchen. We talked the entire time. He filled me in on how long he’s lived here, which is all his life. Both of his parents moved here from Tennessee after college, setting down roots with him and his siblings, and they haven’t left since. Adam mentioned that after he graduated from high school, he made the choice to stick around town, working odd jobs before starting his own business.

I laughed more with Adam than I had in the past month, and it was cathartic. I needed that; to laugh without restraint. To have a reprieve from the hurt.

It may be bold to presume, but I think he had a nice time too. I almost forgot we were working until I had to hand over the cash advance I took out to pay him. Hopefully, in another week, I’ll have my first paycheck.

I’m supposed to meet Adam at the home improvement store later this afternoon to look at cabinets and countertops. Last night, while curled up in bed scrolling through old high school photos of Chris and me, Adam messaged over several options to consider. His text came at the perfect time. Right before I was going to snap.

I smile, thinking about the weekend as I unload half of a spray can of cleaner onto this porcelain seat, gloves squeaking as I wipe it down.

Once the toilet has new life, I move on to the vanity and floors, scrubbing the white tile and making all the brushed nickel shine. Two hours later, I pack up the supplies. Then I return everything to the supply closet and toss the linens and towels down the laundry chute like a pro.

Skipping down the stairs, I fly into the kitchen where the scent of cinnamon blankets everything. Mrs. Northgate is bent over the oven and using a spatula to flip pecans.

“I’ve finished the north and south rooms. They’re all set for check-in. What are you making?”

“Oh good. And candied pecans. Here, try one.” She wipes her hands on her blue checkered apron and moves a plastic container to the island while I scrub my hands practically raw at the sink. She extends the bowl to me, and I pop a couple in my mouth. My eyes go wide, utterly moved by the explosion of sweet, nutty flavor on my tongue.

She laughs. “I knew you’d love it. I should send some home with you. You need some more meat on those bones.”

I chuckle along with her, but inside I deflate. Between my rapid dodge out of Michigan, my emotional state, and the busy renovations here—I haven’t had much time to focus on fueling my body properly. Yesterday, the jeans I pulled out of my newly delivered dresser were a size too big.

I chew the inside of my cheek.

Hope feels so far off, yet so close at the same time. Something big is coming. I can feel it. This state of despair and pain won’t last forever. The past several days have proven that.

So I don’t dwell on her comment and change the subject. “I’m off to pick out more items for the house.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Fleur. I can’t wait to see everything you do to it. It’s about time that beautiful place was made to shine.” Mrs. Northgate lets down her silver hair before adjusting and pulling it back up into a clip again.

“I’m just grateful Adam is able to help me. He’s been a blessing for someone like me—I’m renovation challenged.” I snort.

“Adam? Adam Parker?” she asks, her face contorting into an expression somewhere between curiosity and concern.

My jaw drops open as I attempt to answer before realizing?—

“I don’t know his last name. I met him at the home improvement store about a week after I got here. He came to the house to check it out. Said he was the handyman around town.”

“Adam Parker,” Mrs. Northgate says matter-of-factly.

“He’s been really helpful. Sounded like he needed the work too.”

“I’m sure he does.”

I narrow my eyes at the sweet old woman who’s not acting so sweet at the moment. Obviously, I’m missing something.

I help myself to a bottle of water Mrs. Northgate keeps on hand for housekeepers and the young groundskeepers. Mr. Northgate utilizes high schoolers instead of keeping a full-time gardener or maintenance personnel. Usually, they’ve commandeered all the beverages for themselves in this summer heat.

“I’m hoping I can at least determine the countertops,” I say, smiling and trying to get over the awkwardness at the topic of Adam.

She nods, then turns to continue mixing the pecans for another round in the oven while I hunt for my time sheet.

Finally, I end up clocking out right after the first guests arrive and drive across town to the home improvement store. I pull into the parking spot and immediately flip down the car mirror to pinch my cheeks and dab on some lip gloss.

You’re being ridiculous.

Maybe so. But the truth is, I like how distracted I am when I’m with Adam. There’s always something to talk about or renovation decisions to be made. Falling into conversation with him is easy. What’s even easier—ignoring the pain and hurt I’m feeling.

Like clockwork, my phone dings with another message from Chris.

Answer me, Fleur.

I glance at the others before that.

So, you left?

Are you coming back?

Where are you?

Can we talk?

How do I speak with him? How do I talk to the man who ripped my heart out and beat it to death with the heel of the college girl he was screwing behind my back.

I smack the wheel, anticipation over seeing Adam now gone—another moment stolen by Chris and perpetuated by none other than me.

My fingers find the rubber bands on my wrist, and I roll them each between my thumb and forefinger. The smooth elastic is soft and pliable but meets resistance as I draw it taut. They hover there, above my arm, before I let them snap. The distinct sting bites into my wrist as I release the two bands. Angry, raised red welts appear instantly.

Only a tiny amount of pain for distraction.

There’s always the need for distraction.

Especially in the last month.

A knock on my jeep’s window spooks me and I jump. My elbow bumps the horn for a short beep that draws the attention of people in the parking lot. Adam’s muffled laugh through the glass softens the instant panic, and I give him a light wave before opening the door.

“You scared me.”

“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to distract you.”

My gaze snaps to his, and I hold his deep brown eyes as I swallow at his words. He tilts his head, bringing a hand up to graze my elbow.

“Hey … are you all right?” he asks.

“I will be,” I say.

He winks, tossing a thumb in the direction of the sliding double doors. “Let’s go then.”